


Expendable

by Splat_Dragon



Series: Whumptober 2019 [9]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: "Abandoned", "Locked Up and Left Behind", "Shackled", Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blessed Are The Peacemakers, Character Study, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Major Spoilers, Prompt 26, Whumptober 2019, prompt 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 17:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Whumptober 2019, #9: "Shackled" and #26: "Abandoned"Bad Things Happen Bingo: "Locked Up and Left Behind"Arthur had always known he was the most expendable.He was the workhorse, sure. But if everyone put in just a bit more work, they could make up for his absence.He'd just never thought everyone else realized he was expendable, too.





	Expendable

_ “_

_He ain’t coming!” _ Colm had said, eyes wild and furious, spit flying, _ “Why ain’t he coming?!” _

At the time, Arthur had laughed. The sound had been more of a wheeze, his mouth and throat dry with dehydration, with fever, but it had been enough to make Colm snap, slamming the tip of his boot into Arthur’s face until his nose shattered, his face covered in blood, and he’d had to close his eyes in an attempt to fight off the dizziness as he swung around on his shackles. His ankles _ hurt_, he was sure the shackles had dug into them, had worn away the skin, could feel the blood trickled down his legs as the wounds re-opened. But he didn’t give Colm the satisfaction of crying out in pain, wasn’t even sure he had the energy to.

So he closed his eyes and played dead, feigned unconsciousness, until Colm grew bored, stomped out of the… wherever they’d put him, he was fairly certain it was a basement from the smell of upturned soil and the stairs, but he couldn’t be certain.

Being alone, though, was something he had never handled well. It always brought him into his thoughts, and his thoughts often spiraled, darkened and darkened until he threw himself desperately into a heist, or a fight, or drunk himself dumb. But now he was shackled by his feet to the ceiling, head heavy with blood, unable to do anything else.

Dutch… Dutch had always promised he’d come for him. He was family, after all. And family meant no one got left behind. And Hosea had sworn it, too. Every time someone was in trouble, they saved them. When John was trapped up in the mountains, pinned by wolves, he and Javier had gone to rescue him. When Bill had been captured by Lemoyne Raiders, Javier had tracked him down to help free him.

Surely, Javier would come for him, too? Javier had sworn that they were _ amigos_, that they were _ hermanos_. And Javier had always saved his _ amigos _ and _ hermanos _ and _ hermanas_.

And John, despite their fight, would come for him? They were brothers—they fought, and snarled and snapped and hated each other. But only they could hurt each other, no one else was allowed. In the end, they were family.

The thought that they weren’t coming… his throat tightened, and he shuddered. He’d always come for them, but they wouldn’t come for him? How many times had he been hurt saving them, rescuing Javier from racists, Bill from men in the saloon he’d angered, Micah from lawmen, and so many others he couldn’t even remember?

Were they even looking for him? Or had they just written him off, decided he’d left now that things were getting tough? 

Or… oh, god. Did they think he’d sided with Colm? Followed him after the ill-fated ‘parley’, decided to join the bigger, stronger side? He’d always been loyal, perhaps too loyal, but Dutch had always valued family, too, had been kind and listened to him, but more and more he’d been listening to Micah.

Micah…

_ “Oh, I’ll wipe that smile off your face one day. Believe me.” _

At the time, he had passed it off as more of Micah’s bluster. More of his all bark, no bite. But… what if he had gotten into Dutch’s ear? Convinced him that he had left, joined up with the O’Driscolls like Colm had tried to convince him to do when he was young and the gangs still ran together? Or just that he had cut and run like so many before him?

But maybe it was better that they weren’t coming. It was a trap—Colm had said so. Pinkertons were waiting, would rush in and capture his family. If they were arrested because of him, hung, he’d never forgive himself. What was his life, the life of a workhorse, to theirs? To the leader, the protectors? The golden son and the adviser?

It would be hard to replace how much work he did, sure. But if Micah got off his ass, he actually was a useful asset. Was good at tracking down leads, even if they did go wrong. And Bill wasn’t half bad, either, when he wasn’t drunk off his ass. Javier, when he left camp, could find work they couldn’t, with his fluent Spanish; much of the camp knew some, but only the absolute basics, what they had picked up from Javier, and not nearly enough to communicate.

The girls, if Dutch let them out of camp more, could help bring in money. Not a lot, sure, but enough to supplement them, help buy some food or ammunition. If they dropped the foolish Braithewaite-Gray plans, then they could focus on simpler work, work that may not pay off as well, but that was safer and more reliable.

So, in the end, he was the most expendable.


End file.
